Partners in Crime
by archergwen
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke; so much sass and snark and so little time. Luckily, the fount of AU possibilities overfloweth. Betrayal, flower shops, and smooches abound. (A collection of one-shots)
1. Put Your Gun or Betrayal

**Put Your Trigger Where Your Mouth Is**

Bellamy crept carefully around the corner, sticking to the shadows.

His heart was pounding so loud it seemed to drown out everything else.

This was his last shot, his last chance to redeem everything that had gone so wrong. At least this time, he was only fixing it because it was his responsibility. For once, the dire situation wasn't his fault.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shock of blonde hair.

Clarke.

She had crept up on him, silently and with the greatest of stealth. He wished, once more sending his every scrap of will to high heaven, that she was on his side, his partner through thick and thin.

"Bellamy," she whispered, her voice carrying the same prayer as her feet took her into his space.

As she pressed him against the dark wall, the last cold scraps of him cried out to press his gun to her chest and end it, end her.

He couldn't.

She kissed him.

They melted into each other, his free hand cording through her hair. This is all he wanted, none of this crazy conflict that pitted them against each other. Just her warm lips on his, the faint smell of vanilla and earth and sky that was uniquely her, her weight leaning into his as if to say, "you are not alone."

Instead, she pulled away, taking a few timid steps like a deer as if she meant to fade away, back into the shadows leaving him bereft and much colder.

In a heartbeat her stance was strong. In a blink her gun was raised and she fired straight at his chest.

The cheap little vest dinged and started flashing green as Bellamy sighed.

Clarke flashed a grin as she ran off, throwing over her shoulder, "love you!"

 _Yes_ , thought Bellamy as he followed the exit signs to the lobby to wait out his team's inevitable loss for the third round in a row on this laser tag outing, _yes she does._


	2. Put Your Bet on Me

**Put Your Bets on Me**

Bellamy Blake is the number one Ancient History professor at Ark U, which naturally puts him at odds with Clarke Griffin.

She's the appointed leader for the Modern European nerds, and she fights him tooth and nail for any bit of publicity along with student specializations. There's actually a tally on the whiteboard between their offices counting how many students "converted" from a focus in the Ancient department to hers, or vice versa.

To his chagrin, she's winning.

The History Department is pretty proud of its tow youngest Associate Professors - who never want to touch the Department Chair position - since once the history department gets you to declare for them you never shake them off.

Blake and Griffin are both a huge part of that.

They've both got a reputation a mile wide for dragging students into putting out the best work they've ever written and consequently attracting admirers. He plays the cold terror angle, softening as students prove themselves and he runs out of steam for the act. She is the enigma, the pretty blonde who outsmarts her students, lets them justify the Reign of Terror with slowly dawning expressions of terror.

Of course, they also fight like hell in department meetings when trying to organize special lectures and events.

They're the worst of coworkers - and the best of friends.

Most of the other professors are old enough that they live with their families in suburbs, and few want to spend their weekends sitting in a bar with two single kids.

So when classes are over for the day, Bellamy and Clarke are found curled up on one of their couches, a beer in hand with a show playing. They don't even really watch anything, just talk and argue gently about history.

Occasionally, they support each other in department meetings when something is important enough. It stuns the rest of the department into silence when they agree with each other, that they get everything they want.

Maybe one day they'll end up married. One day, they'll stun the whole department by handing out wedding invitations.

For now, they'll just go home at the end of a long day, arm in arm next to each other on the monorail, just happy to be together. She'll rest her head in the crook of his neck to read over his shoulder while pretending to read her own book, and he'll pretend he doesn't notice and doesn't mind.


	3. Geraniums and Gloxinia

**Geraniums and Gloxinia**

It's not every day a beautiful woman storms into Blake Blossoms.

Bellamy's first thought is that some idiot boy messed up and now the crazy girlfriend as come to yell at him.

Instead, it's a completely new scenario he never could have imagined.

A gorgeous woman, hair like flax in sunlight, throws open the doors and practically stomps to the counter. She slams her hands down on the counter, making Bellamy jump, before she snaps, "How do I be passive-aggressive and say 'fuck you' with flowers?"

"Excuse me?"

"Flower language. I need to say 'fuck you' to someone but not immediately give it away. I need to be very passive aggressive."

Bellamy's eyes flick to the lily collection and then back to her. "I don't-"

"Fine I'll Google-"

"Hold on!" Her fingers fumble with her phone as she jumps. "I apologize for startling you, but you didn't let me finish. I don't know the full situation, but I can get you started. Orange lilies first," he continues, emerging from behind the counter. "You send them to signify hatred."

She looks at him, a little unsettled. "Sorry," she begins, rapid as ever. "I work in a hospital. It's hard to remember the outside world can afford to move slowly."

He chuckles as he selects the most vibrant orange lilies. His fingers brush over a few bundles of gloxinia, but instead he collects up some yellow carnations. He does like to sort by color, and it helps because these two flowers go along well, as far as meanings go.

"I bet you run the ER."

"Yes."

Bellamy nods. "Of course you do." He places the flowers in a vase with a few sprigs of greenery. "The yellow carnations traditionally mean 'you have disappointed me.' Is there anything else in the bouquet that needs to be said? I ask, as most compilations of Victorian flower language, book or website, neglect to have flowers set aside for obscenities."

She sighs, before beginning, "I thought my boyfriend was cheating on me. I was wrong. I'm the other woman that he was cheating on his girlfriend with. Couldn't commit, it seems. Which, honestly, is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Because I met girlfriend number one. She's a space engineer, and utterly gorgeous." She smirks. "We're best friends now, and gonna break up with him tomorrow."

Bellamy instantly crosses over to grab up a handful of geraniums. He waves them a bit, letting the light catch the color. "For stupidity." He collects some pink larkspur on his way back as well. "For fickleness."

At that one, she chuckles.

"I just need one more." As he scans the flowers - O has been moving them again to serve her own organization system - his eyes catch again on that silly gloxinia. "There." He collects some foxglove. "This one is for insincerity."

He sets about arranging the flowers just so, trying to balance out the colors with a few more sprigs of greenery laced through the collection.

"It's a striking bouquet."

"And full of loathing."

She smiles again, and he grins back over the flowers. For a few seconds, she watches his fingers as he works, but eventually curiosity seems to get the better of her.

"So why 'Blake's Blossoms?'"

"Ah, well, my mother always loved flowers, and dreamed of starting her own shop. She saved and saved to get herself a hothouse, which I still use, and then started saving again to get this store, making a little extra with selling some flowers on the side. Well, she wasn't around to name the store when the dream finally got realized, so that honor fell to me and my sis."

He pulls out some ribbon and loops it around the vase, tying a gentle bow. "I was all for calling it Blake's Flowers. It's simple and to the point. My sister though-" his face softens, he can't help it, even scrawling "For You" on a card with as much vitriol as he can muster "- She's so creative, loves flowers for their beauty and is always rearranging them in here. She demanded it be Blake's Blossoms, alliteration and all. Said it would stand out more. We do pretty well for ourselves, so I guess she's right."

"Where is your sister? Does she work here, too?"

"She does. She does most of the deliveries, since I want her to be a good and safe driver." He tries to wrinkle his brow as he continues. "I think she's going to leave me for the tattoo artist next door."

"He's hot; I don't blame her."

Bellamy regards her with the most affronted look he can summon, and she bursts into laughter.

"Thank you, Mr. Blake. I have desperately needed to laugh this past week."

"It's Bellamy, and I'm sorry to hear the ER isn't teeming with jokers and clowns."

She snorts. "I'm Clarke, and since my mom is Chief of Surgery, it's a little tense at work most days."

Bellamy slides the bouquet across the counter to her. "You got the look of a girl who earned her place. Don't let it get to you, princess." Sticks her tongue out at him, then. "I find, that if you get the chance to stick up for your people against your mom, things might ease for you with them. But first, you have a bouquet to deliver."

"Thanks. How much do I owe you?"

"Oh," he studies the bouquet briefly. "Eh, fifty bucks."

"You sure? It seems worth more than that."

Bellamy waves his hand. "It's the vase."

Clarke smiles as she hands him some cash. "Well, far be it from me to argue with my highly knowledgeable florist."

Change in her pocket, Clarke picks up the vase and starts to leave.

"Wait." Bellamy selects the prettiest blossom he's been eyeing and tucks it behind her ear. "The gloxinia's free."

Eyes meeting his, she quickly bites her lip. "What does this one mean?"

Bellamy wills himself not to blush. "Nothing. Just thought it was pretty."

"Sure, Blake. Have a great rest of your day."

"You, too, and good luck tomorrow."

With one last smile, Clarke backs out of Blake's Blossoms.

* * *

Clarke walks in two days later, on another slow day, a red flower in her fingers.

O is out, so it looks like Bellamy is alone as Clarke saunters up to the counter and places the slightly wilted but still lovely flower down between them, her hand resting lightly on it.

"So I bought a dictionary of flower meanings."

"Oh kay," he replies, a little hesitant.

"And I'm recently single, and am about to go back on shift for a crazy amount of time."

Bellamy nods, a little unsure about his safety because there is a counter between them but she's leaning across it.

"But just so you know-" She pushes the hand with the flower into his chest, grabbing a hold of his shirt, and pulled him into a kiss. "I am pretty interested. Give me a few days to be sure I'm over Finn, and I'll be back."

"That's fair. And wise, honestly."

Clarke nods, and then kisses him again.

This time, they're interrupted by O, coughing, who's come in with fresh flowers and looks quite amused.

Bellamy notes that Clarke's blush is pretty cute before she scampers out the door.

"You got it bad, big brother," O says, laughing as she drops the flowers off.

"Yeah," he says, playing with the flower she left as she ran away. "Yeah I do."

* * *

A week later, Clarke comes back, and doesn't leave until she has a bouquet of gloxinia and roses - and Bellamy's number in her phone just in case she ends up running late to their first date.


	4. Put Your Walls Back Up

**Put Your Walls Back Up**

"Oh hi"

"Yeah, hi."

It's awkward and stilted, this meetup. They didn't intend for it to be so. She just happened to jump in line right behind him in the coffee shop, absorbed in her book, and then when the line shifted she over corrected and rammed into him.

They haven't seen each other in two years, and their eyes meet and then instantly flick to the left hand, empty of rings in both cases.

"How's it going?"

"Uh, good. You?"

"Good, yeah."

She keeps her satisfaction buried deep down. It's fine for him to have dated someone else. After their breakup, she moved on and dated other people.

Well, one person and then just casual dates now and again. Clarke is still reeling from that second breakup. It was the smart thing to do - different priorities and all, and Clarke doesn't do well with feeling betrayed.

Clarke gets it. She does. People value different things. Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

"Are you still drawing for bio textbooks?"

"Yeah, and I'm about to have a personal art show, as well. Still trying to become a professor?"

"Finished my master's, yeah, and turn in my final copy of my dissertation for my PhD next month. I'm actually working in a museum right now, doing some research for them, and tutoring of course, as there are loads of wanna-be history professors in the market right now. I want to be sure my resume stands out when I do apply."

Clarke nods, and smiles. "I'm sure you'll do just fine."

This is nice, easy. They were never the couple to bicker for entertainment, and now Clarke's wishing all that shit with their parents hadn't gone down. It got resolved, at least, on her end, a month after they split, and she spent the next two months praying she'd run into him so she could explain, maybe make things a little more friendly as they parted.

She didn't, of course, and now here they are, two years later, those wounds scarred over and Clarke wants so badly to explain but she doesn't want to rip that pain open for either of them.

Maybe she can meet him for coffee a few more times, and then when the past inevitably comes up she can-

A lovely brunette slides in and loops her left arm around his right, casually showing off the diamond ring around her finger. "Sorry I'm late, babe. I'll grab us a table?"

"Sure, thanks," he replies, his whole face lit up as he presses a kiss to her cheek. She giggles, bright and joyful, and goes to stake out table.

Clarke can't help but smile. She always was a sucker for love stories.

"She seems wonderful."

"Yeah." Bellamy suddenly seems uncomfortable and his shoulder tenses, as he wants to rub the back of his neck, but Clarke forces her smile wider and for her body to relax.

"She makes you light up; I like her. She'll take good care of my old friend." A shy grin, almost disbelieving starts to spread across his face. "Now turn around, 'cause the line's moving, you have a date, and I desperately need coffee to get me through this novel's finale."

Bellamy laughs. "You're a good woman, Clarke Griffin, and right as usual." She smirks back, and then banter a bit more before he places his order.

Clarke gets her coffee to go though.

There's only so much self-flagellation a girl can subject herself to in one day.


	5. Put the Cat Pictures Down

"Clarke, for the love of all that is holy stop distracting me! I have a huge-ass report to finish! I don't care that your cat-"

Bellamy blinked in surprise as he cut himself off. "Hold up. Did you say you cat just had kittens?"

"I think you just did," she muttered in reply before shifting her weight so she could look him in the eye. "But yes. Princess just had a litter of kittens; they're not old enough to move out yet, but I wanted to see if anyone wants them. I can't keep them."

"I- How many kittens?"

"It was a smaller litter, so three."

Bellamy spins twice in his chair before slamming to a stop. "I want one."

Clarke raises her eyebrow. "Fine. In two weeks, you can come over and pick one out."

* * *

True to his word, Bellamy showed up at Clarke's desk two weeks later.

"Alright. I have started kitten-proofing my apartment, cleared it with my super to have a pet, and have a scratching post."

"Okay. You're serious. I'll show you to my place and you can pick out a kitten."

Bellamy couldn't take Skimbleshanks - "What? It is a respectable cat name from the longest-running musical on Broadway!" - home for a few more weeks, over which he was very put out.

Clarke sensed he was taking it out on her as he started showing up at her desk every day or so with pictures of cat toys, beds, food, anything getting her advice and basically treating her like Google.

She did not appreciate it.

It was still nice to see. He was going to take good care of the kitten, and the more prepared he was now, the less he'd call her later.

She was wrong.

* * *

"Clarke. Clarke he won't stop crying."

"He's in a strange apartment without his mom. Let him cry it out. He'll adjust."

"But it's so sad."

"Bellamy Blake, I'm glad you actually have a heart but you hang up the phone right now. It's 3am and I want to sleep. Go to bed."

"I can't sleep! My son is crying!"

Clarke hung up.

* * *

Bellamy missed two days of work, and then it was the weekend. Clarke, who was unwilling to admit she was worried, looked up his address in the company files and then drove to his apartment Saturday morning.

Her knock met with a "it's unlocked!"

Clarke stepped cautiously into his apartment, and sighed with relief and disappointment to see him sitting in his living room, perfectly healthy, playing with Skimbleshanks.

"Oh. I thought you were my sister."

"You skipped work to play with your cat?"

"No, I skipped work because I didn't sleep at all Wednesday night, and then I skipped work to play with my cat."

"You're impossible," Clarke replies, rolling her eyes even as she comes to sit down next to him, watching the kitten fly about the floor in pursuit of the feather dangling from the plastic wand.

"I'm in love."

Clarke shudders with fake disgust. "You're a mess."

"You like it."

"Against my will."

"Oh really?" He looks at her with the comical studious expression, one eyebrow raised while the purple feather bobs just at the edge of her vision. "Well how about this?"

Suddenly the purple feather is in the middle of her chest, and then just as quickly after there's a small gray kitten in her lap, twisting and writhing as he tries to capture both the feather and her hair.

"Bellamy!" she yells, but she's laughing, and smiling, and oh god she's staring at him, and he's staring back and biting his lip, and oh my god she might kiss him.

"Ugh, just have sex already," interrupts a new voice, punctuating her intrusion with the slam of the door.

"Not with children present," retorts Bellamy, scooping Skimble out of Clarke's lap and crossing to his sister. "Don't want to give innocent eyes impossible standards."

"More like scar them."

Clarke smiles, faintly, wishing she'd had siblings to tease so lovingly. Bellamy leaves his sister to watch the kitten playing in the grocery bags so he can grab Clarke's hand and pull her towards the kitchen.

"O, this is Clarke. She's the coworker that has the mother cat."

"Ah, the Wonderful Blonde."

If Bellamy's embarrassed, he doesn't show it. It doesn't surprise Clarke in the slightest, given the frank air around O.

"So Clarke," O starts, turning towards her. "When are you taking my brother for coffee?"

"I-"

"O, lay off. Don't talk big if you're not gonna ask out that hot medical student with the tattoos."

His sister glared, but relented, focusing on the cat instead.

"Anyway, Clarke, thanks for coming by to check on me. Quite the kind thing to do."

"Of course. The office isn't the same without your humor, or you pestering me about cats."

"Hey, always talk to the experts."

"That's what's Google's for."

"Kiss already," shouts O, holding Skimble as she walks towards the bedrooms. "And then I'll ask Lincoln out."

Bellamy leans in conspiratorially. "Let's not and say we did. Then, when you do take me out for coffee, we can kiss on our own timetable."

"Fine. Fine. Look, you've got a babysitter for your cat, you nervous pet owner-" "-O is my roommate, thank you." "-so we're getting coffee now. We are putting this to rest."

* * *

They put the jokes to rest, because Clarke and Bellamy keep going for coffee until they give up and move in together, and never move back out.


	6. Put Your Heart on the Counter

**Put Your Heart on the Counter**

"Price check on Aisle 9."

The blonde glared daggers at him, but there was nothing to be done. The manager was on his way.

Bellamy normally wasn't this much of an asshat. If a girl comes in past midnight for chocolate, tampons, cat litter, and a plunger, she needs every item and the best attitude he can muster.

(Attitude is, actually, one of the reasons why Bellamy is stuck on overnights. Too many entitled-feeling customers in a row and he'll explode. His sarcasm goes over well with truckers passing through and college kids, so he's built a following the manager's proud of.)

This chick, though, has some crisis going on and has decided to take it out on everyone else. Well. He can hold up the only open counter for a few minutes so his manager and everyone at the store can get a good look at her embarrassment.

And there is nothing she can do.

The hate rolling off her is as good as any coffee.

"Listen, mister, if they're under-priced, ring me up twice; I don't care. Just let me out of here."

"Too late, sorry. My manager's just here."

Kane is no-nonsense and efficient, so when nothing comes up Bellamy will have hell to pay later, especially if the reason why he called it comes out.

"Oh wow. Glad you called this Blake. Both the litter and the tampons are supposed to be on sale. That should take at least five dollars off, and here, let me take a small discount off, too, for the trouble."

Bellamy meets the blonde's eyes in stunned amazement, trying to cover it as smug, but she's on to him by now.

Kane pats Bellamy's shoulder as he shuffles off. "Nice work."

The blonde watches him go before she starts laughing. "Well that backfired."

"How could it possible have backfired?" He gestures towards the card reader before starting to bag her items. "I ended your murderous rampage through the store, got to watch you embarrassed, and you saved money. We all win, just some more than others."

"Well," she says, taking her bag. "This has been slightly less not-fun than what's waiting for me at home, so I'll be seeing you."

"Hey, we're open 24/7 and I'm just pathetic enough to be here 6 days out of 7."

She snorts. "Yes. Next time my girlfriend's hormones means she surprises our apartment - and cat! - with a puppy, I'll be sure to stop by."

"Have a great night!"

With one final look that says, "no, I really won't," she walks out the door.

* * *

Bellamy Blake doesn't do days off.

He works at the 24hr store every night but Fridays, so he can drive O to school events if she wants. Saturday nights she bums rides from the Jordans if she must.

The shift runs from eleven at night to six, so he can get home, change, drive O to school, and then the weekdays when she's at school he's the finest waiter at Ark, a restaurant he'd never eat at if he didn't get a discount on an entree once a week and mistake dishes free. The owner, Abby, is nice enough to keep Bellamy's schedule locked in stone, no matter how others complain about the dinner rush. They're mostly students. They're not responsible for another life.

He leaves Ark by four every day, picks up O from school if she's not involved in the school play, and then sleeps like the dead for as long as he can.

Getting home Friday evening to have dinner with O and then sleep until Saturday night is heaven.

It's worth it, of course.

He barely got custody and barely keeps it. The lack of other family members is probably the only thing keeping the siblings together, since no one can find O's dad.

They've got a simple apartment with simple needs, only one car even if two would be a help, because Bellamy will be damned if his sister doesn't get to go to college like she wants.

She doesn't have to, not to be a stage manager when she already has experience with the children's theater downtown, but college goals are good things that keep Child Services happy when it's obvious between two full time jobs Bellamy only has time to clean, cook, whatever on the weekends, so O does a lot of that, and a lot of cooking for herself.

It's a Friday halfway through the O's senior year and all those stresses when Bellamy sees a face he never expected to see.

It's Tech Week for the winter show, so he doesn't have to worry about O since Monty saved up for a car and is now the tech crew's chauffeur, basically.

The lunch rush is on - if fading - and a vaguely familiar blonde is sitting just outside his zone with an equally beautiful brunette. Bellamy remembers plungers, and laughs to himself, and continues about the shift. He's too tired to be an ass.

He ends up taking over the table though, because once shit hits the fan timid Fox won't go near it. In exchange, Fox took three of his tables and the others won't need his attention for a few minutes, at which point Harper should be in, clocking in early.

It's not everyday the boss's daughter ends a relationship very publicly and very loudly.

(Very deservedly.)

"Hey."

He sits down in the spot coolly vacated by the brunette.

"Hey," he tries again when she fails to look up from twisting her napkin. "Should I buy you some more chocolate and a plunger?"

She looks up at that, and her face twists into a fake smile as she tries to hide that she's close to tears.

"Fancy seeing you here. Aren't you a grocer?"

"Both."

"Some crazy hours you work."

"Gotta pay the bills somehow."

She widens her smile briefly at that, before looking down again. "So how much are the waitstaff gossiping about me?"

"Not too much. You did kinda scare off your last waiter, but that's not hard; Fox is still skittish. Listen, I'll introduce you to Raven, our chef, later if you want. She is the most beautiful and badass woman. She was singing your praises while us waiters temporarily re-divided the tables."

"Really?"

"Really. I get that whole 'not cause a scene business,' but her end was executed poorly. She should've expected a betrayal on that level would cause strain, and then she made it worse by attempting to pen your behavior up, control your reaction into something she wanted. Now, you got to understand where she's coming from, because her business is important to her. She sees a short-term benefit on her own that, to her, outweighs the long-term with your mom's business. She's screwing over your people, but she has to think of hers first."

"And her long-term girlfriend isn't her people?"

Bellamy winced. "Right. Forgot the whole 'living together' thing. I'm sorry."

The blonde sighs. "I told her not to do any of this ages ago when we just started dating, or break up with me. She insisted business wouldn't interfere with pleasure, so I trusted her, but-"

"She broke a deal. It sucks. I hope you can forgive her. In any case, here's my number. I'm not free a lot to sit and chat, but I can usually find time to text. Now I have to get back to waiting tables. I'll be by to check on you in a bit."

It takes her a few days, and he's sitting on break in the Ark's back rooms, but the first text lights up his phone like the sun.

"Hi asshole. It's Clarke. Got a minute to talk?"


	7. Put the IV Right There

**Put the IV Right There**

"Should I be concerned with how much caffeine you're taking in?"

"Mind your own business, Blake."

"Yep. I'm concerned."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Please just give me the coffee. That's what I pay you for, not commenting on my life."

"If you did, I would certainly mention the worrying look of fatigue coupled with your choice of profession - well I ought to send you home for a nap."

"You are not my father."

The joking tone doesn't quite cover the edge.

"Nor are you my little sister. I wouldn't put up with this self-destruction if you were. Art is your passion? Great. It shouldn't practically drive you to death so you've got a caffeine IV just about welded into, just so you can paint enough to live. 'Cause, yeah, you've got talent; I've seen your gallery. You'll make a big name for yourself if you live that long."

The silence between them, alone in a coffee shop at four-fifty in the morning, is charged with tension.

"I would hate-" He spits the word out like it personally offended him. "-to see your name among the artists who only get the recognition they deserve post-mortem, the whole world wondering what they could've been with another ten, five, two years to grow."

Clarke's hands fist around her coat edges.

"Please. Find someone to help you, or do something more lucrative for a spell."

"You're offering me life advice at five in the morning when we both know you dropped everything, stopped your entire life to help your sister and then she left you?"

Bellamy steps back. "That is a low blow, unrelated, and you know it."

"Give me the fucking coffee."

He hands it over, and lets her go without a fight. He won't see her for a few weeks, as usual, but she'll turn back up with a new piece for him to sell, her own little "screw you and your opinions."

He hopes one day she'll realize he's been trying to offer her help, or a job - or that one day he can offer that outright.


	8. Put My Name Down Right

**Put My Name Down Right**

 _Bradbury Brake_

"Is this a joke?"

"Nope. That's your name."

He glanced again at his cup, then back at the blonde with the too-innocent air while she cleaned the counter. "I was your TA for your history gen-ed when Dr. Moreno ran off to DC after some old photos. You know my name."

"That I do, Bradbury."

Muttering that he'll never understand undergrads, Bellamy Blake left the cafe, not noticing the blonde whacking the girl who had taken his order.

 _Celery Drake_

"Now I know you're messing with me."

"I have no idea to what you are referring."

"Fine then." He steels his spine, because pronunciation has always been important. "Thank you for the coffee, Clerke Gryphen."

She smiles with pride as he walks away.

 _Barnaby Flake_

"Ms. Chiffen, how did your latest exam go?"

"Quite well, Mr. Flake, quite well."

"Please, after all this time, call me-" He broke off to quickly scan the cup. "Call me Barnaby."

"Your Christian name?" She reels back in fake horror, and Bellamy is so, so glad he comes in when the shop is practically empty.

"I feel friendships must naturally develop. Wouldn't you agree, Chirp?"

She bites her lip before muttering at the ceiling. "Wow you are so bad at this." She grins at him again as he leaves.

"Have a great day, Barnaby."

 _Bellamy Blake_

"What, no name misunderstandings today?"

"I was drawing a blank my entire commute to work this morning. It's not my fault your name isn't as easy to bastardize as Bandersnatch Cummerbund's."

"Who?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll see you on campus?"

"Unlikely. I'm running off to DC myself to look at some old photos and artifacts for the next week."

"Well, I'll avoid the campus coffeeshop then." She winks at him. "It's no fun getting coffee if your name isn't horribly rendered."

"You sure?"

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Touche. Getting your phone number instead of my name was a smooth move."

Bellamy smiles, drawing himself up just a smidgen. "I have to run, but thank you so much for the coffee. I'll text you any cool art things I see."

"Sounds good."

"Oh and Clarke? What's my name in your phone?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"


	9. Put Her Back on the Throne

**Put Her Back on the Throne**

"Heya, Bellamy."

"Heya, Clarke."

"That's no way to talk to the heir to the throne!"

Both the Princess and the young guardsman turned to look at the Head of the Guards. Clarke broke first, laughing while Bellamy moved the Princess's steed towards the stone wall she was sitting on. She began to chuckle as well while the Head Guard just looked cross.

"You've never done this before, have you, Pike?"

"You're the only one who's done this every time, Bellamy."

His hands grabbed her waist, helping her bounce from the wall to the ground and onto the horse. "Consistency is key." His voice was light as he lingered to be sure that she was well seated.

Pike raised an eyebrow. "You can stop manhandling her."

Clarke immediately leaned over - unbalancing herself so that Bellamy had to stay there to keep her from falling - and ran her hands haphazardly all over Bellamy's face and through his hair. "Is this a problem?"

"No..."

"Then Bellamy being sure I don't fall isn't a problem." She easily righted herself. "Someone else ought to go with him next time."

He let go of the reins to move to his own horse. "You say that every time."

"Eventually you'll find someone else who can keep up."

With that, her horse exploded forward, racing away from the men and furthering her flight from the castle. Bellamy cursed before quickly vaulting onto his own horse. Pike scrambled for his, but the third horse skittered away as Bellamy rapidly gave chase, leaving the Head Guard scrambling.

* * *

Clarke knew her horse well. She kept a high speed as she darted through the town, taking quick turns in an attempt to lose her pursuers. She did completely lose Pike with his miserable start, but she couldn't ditch Bellamy. It helped he was pretty sure he knew where she was going.

The two broke out of the village into an open field, a forest just a short push away. Clarke, however, pulled out of a gallop and let her mare walk to cool down - still making for the woods but at a sedate pace.

"Caught me again."

"You know, you would escape if you didn't give up." He pulled up beside her, looking at her seriously. "If today's the day you do it for real, well let's ride full speed into the woods, take the one sharp turn - yes, I know you know which one - and I'll fall off; you'll get away clean."

"No, I'll just go back to my mom and tell her the new prince she's trotted out gives me the creeps. Besides, I can't ask you, one of the best riders in the Queensguard and the one with the reputation for always catching me, to take a fall off your horse for me."

Bellamy laughed shortly. "Please, Princess. I'd fall on my own sword for you."

She recoiled. "Loyalty to the crown has never meant suicide, Bellamy!"

He glanced at her, and then away. "Yeah, well, love makes you do stupid things."

There was a beat, and then the two looked at each other as they realized he said that out loud. A rare blush spread over his tan and freckled face. One might have formed a response if Pike hadn't caught up, sending the moment scattering away.

"Are you quite finished, Your Highness?"

"Yes," Clarke replied slowly. "A good run and ride always clears my mind."

Pike looked like he was about to explode. "All this to get in some exercise?"

She raised an eyebrow as she urged her horse to the path to the castle. "Dear Officer Pike, surely you know how it clears the mind." She tsked at him, as if he had interrupted a Sunday stroll not a half-hearted bid for freedom and confession of love. "A Princess needs a clear mind."

"Then request an outing."

The look she leveled was full of disbelief at his foolishness. "You know how impossible that is, as the man in charge of assigning me bodyguards." With that final barb, she urged her horse forward into a canter, Bellamy's leaping to keep up.

* * *

"When the day comes," he managed to whisper to her at some point. "When the day comes you have to run for real, give me a day or two warning if you can so I can be out of your way."

"And I told you not to sacrifice yourself for me."

"Princess," he began, making her title sound both like an admonishment and endearment, but cut himself off with a shake of his head. "At least you know where my sister and her husband live, if you won't take my help."

She didn't know how to say what she was thinking, and some how a few years riding circles around the other guards discussing policy hadn't prepared her for this moment.

"Thank you, Bellamy."

* * *

The whispers are everywhere within two days, and Bellamy can't stand them.

"Can you believe it?"

"She could do so much better. Ought to be marrying a real prince."

"Could just be rumor, of course, but I hear it's to save the kingdom - that they've got something to end our worries."

"What could be worrying the queen so much she'd marry her daughter to young Lord Wallace?"

It seems that while Clarke was riding through city streets, Queen Abby was placating Lord Dante Wallace with discussions of medicine and technology. While Clarke raced into fields, the palace conversation turned to mutually beneficial trade arrangements. And while Bellamy let slip his feelings, Abby used her one bargaining chip to be sure the Mountain's technology would never slip into the hands of the Ice Nation.

And Clarke wasn't there to protest.

* * *

There's a candle in her window for six days before she vanishes.

Five days into that week, Bellamy starts looking pale, fumbling a little, which is still more than usual, and he barely eats. The next day he can't get out of bed for the fever and the vomiting, and he's ill the entire day. Kane, who controls everyone's schedules and can supersede Pike's scheduling, gives Bellamy three days off and orders bed-rest for that duration.

That night, the candle goes out.

In the morning, Bellamy is dragged from his bed by the young Lord Wallace. The guardsman promptly vomits all over the princeling's shoes, but as he's only been able to keep down water for the past twenty four hours, it's not much of a mess.

"Get up," snarls Lord Wallace. "The Princess is missing and you're supposedly the one man who can always find her."

Bellamy, in his rumpled sleep pants and nothing else for the fever, laughs. He has one leg still caught in his bed, tangled in sheets, and he's supported on his forearms just above Cage's sick-covered shoes, and he laughs.

Naturally, one of those shoes meets his face, and Bellamy wonders what happened that week he didn't see Clarke.

"I told you to get up, not laugh. I am your future king, and you will listen to me."

Braced against his bed now, Bellamy's head weakly lolls with the weight and his illness. "Oh buddy, I have no idea who you are. You're gonna have to try a little harder than that to get unconditional loyalty."

He was rewarded with another kick, this time to the gut, which he repaid with more watery bile as the Queen and her sidekick Kane burst in, Pike trailing behind with the decency to look ashamed.

"Lord Wallace, what is the meaning of this?"

The young lord turned to the retinue, and Bellamy sees the older Lord Wallace making his way though not quite there. "The Princess is missing, and this is the guard that can always find her, yet after a quick round of questioning I learned he was not among the searchers, but in his room. He was in bed, asleep, when I came in. I think he must have aided her."

The queen looked at Bellamy, who stared back unflinchingly. Her gaze flicks over the room before she turns that imperial look on the noble-blooded man. "Cage," she begins, and Bellamy catches a victorious glint as the other man stiffens visibly. "Take a look around the room and tell me what you see."

He barely glances around. "I see a pathetic guardsman's room."

"Mmmm. That is not what I see. I see blinds pulled tight against light, a common reaction for those with a fever-induced headache. Look at your shoes. He's thrown up everything in his stomach, twice, and look, all water. He's been ill for some time - and if you think my daughter didn't let him catch her, you must think me a blind mother. Your few previous indiscretions could be overlooked, as they were done in private, could be read as pre-wedding anxiety as you were bought and sold to ensure both our peoples not only survived, but thrived." Kane, to his credit, flinches, but the queen keeps going, unchanged. "This, however, cannot be overlooked. You assaulted a member of my staff. My staff, not yours."

"Not yet, anyway."

Bellamy wants to kick out Cage's legs for the insult, but Abby's look is plenty. "Not ever. This was unwarranted and public. I must congratulate you, for you held off revealing this behavior for several months, under what must have been enormous pressure. No wonder Clarke was so antagonistic towards you; she was hoping to draw it out." She turned to Dante. "I do hope we can salvage our trade relationship, but it will not be done by marriage." To Pike, she added, "please escort the two Lord Wallaces back to the guest wing."

When they're gone, the queen lays a hand on Bellamy's shoulder and he remembers she worked in hospitals for the longest time, a drug she can't seem to kick. "How do I look, doc?"

He imagines Pike being incredibly flustered at his familiarity with the royal family, but he can't help it - especially with Kane, practically his on-and-off father.

"You look like you took a cocktail of something roughly two days ago so you'd be sick on purpose."

Bellamy, sitting properly against his bed, looks at the queen with his too pale and sweaty face and tries to lie through his teeth without lying. "Now Your Majesty, why in the world would you do that?"

"Same reason you're the only one my daughter won't run away from." She stands, brushing her hands on a pair of pants that probably cost more than his life. "A Prince Consort doesn't need to bring a fantastic alliance or trade resources to the match, Officer Bellamy. But he ought to bring integrity, honor, loyalty." Kane is smirking, the old gossip. "Bring my daughter back, and we'll talk more."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

She almost breezes from the room, but something snags in her mind and catches her hand on the doorway. "Oh, and Bellamy?" She waits for his eyes to meet his. "Thank you."


	10. Put My Pillow Beneath Your Head

**Put My Pillow Beneath Your Head**

"And here's the washroom. Sink, tub, a towel for you. The shower nozzle won't actually stay up on the hook, gotta fix that, but otherwise it's self explanatory. And here's the toilet, light switch on the inside so no pranks possible."

"Please, Blake, like your sister still couldn't come up with five."

"Six, actually. Now this is my room, and the bed for you. Don't worry, I changed the sheets and everything. You should be good to go for however long you need to stay."

Clarke paused, turning his words over before looking at him sideways. "And where will you sleep?"

"Oh I got the couch."

"Oh no." Clarke's hands raised of their own accord. "You are not sleeping indefinitely on your couch while I use your bed, not when you already refused rent money."

Bellamy turned his best "Dad Bellamy" stare on her. "You are my guest thanks to an overzealous arsonist. I am taking no rent, and I will not put a guest on my couch. I will broker no argument."

Clarke pulled every finishing school trick she had to seem taller. "And I am not going to have my friend ruin his back on my account."

"How dare you insult my couch like that. What did it ever do to you?"

"Stop trying to use humor to diffuse the situation."

"Doesn't matter, my house my rules. I will win this."

"That's a terrible impression of my mother. Octavia and Lincoln would let me sleep on their couch and not inconvenience them."

Bellamy smirked. "So I just have to prove you're not an inconvenience? Because you're really not, Clarke. I wouldn't have opened my apartment to you if I wasn't willing and happy to help."

"I'm still not taking your bed while you're on the couch."

"Fine. We'll share. It's a king anyway." When Clarke didn't respond, just stared, Bellamy nodded, curt and satisfied. "Great, that's settled. Come on, let me show you the kitchen. The oven's a bit tricky and one of the burners needs patience. I have a feeling you're going to insist on cooking."

Brain trying to catch up, Clarke lurched after Bellamy. "Of course! It's only good manners."

* * *

That first night was awkward.

Well, not the night so much, as Clarke fell asleep first, exhausted from moving. When she woke up, she discovered Bellamy on the couch and about dragged him to his own bed. "Deal breaker," she whispered at him when he woke up.

"Frying bacon? Awesome."

"Not awesome. I feel guilty. How would you feel if it were the reverse?"

"Fine, fine. The bacon's burning."

"It is not!"

All the same, that second night - after they bumped elbows and tripped over each other trying to get ready for bed - Bellamy dutifully wiggled into the bed next to Clarke. "Good night, roommate."

"How did you sleep alone in this before?"

"You'd be amazed what you get used to when it's free."

"Touche."

One of them shut off the light, and they fell asleep.

* * *

Slowly, they fell into a rhythm. Clarke went back to work after only a week. She'd been offered more time off from the museum, but honestly she needed something to do and to know she was earning money to replace all that was lost. She also needed money to slip into spots for Bellamy to find, which was all too easy.

Change pieces in his jeans to conveniently fall out as he did the wash. Tucking bills into books so he'd find them later. More obvious ones where she'd just blink her eyes innocently and deny everything - like change in his shoes.

He did let her buy groceries, and cleaning supplies, and other replaceables. It was almost an even split, like it was their shared home in full.

It was the same with chores, claiming what they were good at first and covering the other's weaknesses.

* * *

"Do you think this is what it's like to be married?"

Bellamy starts, almost jumping out of their bed. "I think we're missing a pretty big part of being married."

She smacks his arm. "There are more important parts to being married."

"I wouldn't know. Mom never was when I could remember, and I haven't been." He looks in her direction, barely making out her face in the dark. "Were you parents really that good of an example?"

"Not at the end, no. But at the start-" Her voice trailed off before she restarted, hesitant. "I'm sorry. It was a dumb question."

He can feel something breaking, and rolls over to face her, propping his head up on one hand. "No, it's not. And I think, well, this is what you'd want from a marriage, right? We're getting to be better and better friends, picking up each other's favorite snacks or takeaway without really thinking. I mean, other than the whole fire thing to start, we haven't really had any stressors, so I can't say for sure whether this new angle on our relationship is healthy and strong. But, uh, yeah, you could probably say this is what it's like to be fifty, married and in a stable pattern of life."

"Wow, fifty?"

"That's your takeaway?"

She snorts, and something mends.

"So, Clarke my not-wife, did you ask because you're planning to leave me for another man?"

She smacks him again, faking affront. "No, but when I find a guy who can give me this set up and find me incredibly sexually attractive, I just might."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Never said I didn't." He falls back down to stare at the ceiling.

"What? You? Why haven't you made a move then?"

"As a rule, I don't make moves on someone for whom I haven't bought at least bought a drink."

"'For whom I've bought a drink-' You've bought me groceries. Things between us are a bit more serious."

"You've convinced me. I'm dating you now."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. We'll go get drinks Friday night."

"Sounds like a plan. Good night, roommate."

"Goodnight, person with whom I'm in a weird relationship."

"Just end a sentence with a preposition."

"Never. I'll divorce you first."

"Oh, we're married now?"

"You brought it up first."

Snickering gently, Clarke patted his shoulder affectionately. "Good night, Bellamy. Sleep well."

"You, too."

* * *

Getting drinks went really, _really_ , life-changing-ly well.


End file.
